44
Jessica
He wasn’t beneath the willow tree, and I didn’t know where to look next.
I leaned against the trunk and panted, looking over the parking lot and then the street. Nothing. Not a single sign of him.
I cursed my human vision and tried to conjure up any of my Dark powers, but nothing came. I was still blocked. Keep it together, Jess. My nails dug into the bark as my thoughts raced through my shivering body. Where would Eric go if he walked? Home. And I knew exactly what street would take him there.
I rushed down the hill, kicking off my heels as I sprinted across the wet grass. My dress tightened around my hips, but I didn’t care if it ripped. I had to get to him. I couldn’t let him get away again. I had the right to know, and if he was the kind of man I thought he was, he’d fess up.
The lampposts sprayed golden light across the pavement, and I stumbled as I leapt from the grass and onto the concrete. My arms flew out, and I caught my balance, continuing to race forward. Nothing was going to stop me. Not even my dress. Good thing Crystal didn’t pick me out a gown like Linda’s. My dress would be in shreds by now if she had.
The bottom of my feet scraped against the pavement, but I ignored it, pumping my arms and legs. My breath rushed through my throat and filled my lungs, and sweat beaded down my spine. My hairpins fell out, and my curls collapsed, waving behind me. I was running, and I wasn’t going to stop until—
I saw him.
He was walking down the road, his hands still in his pockets, and his head hung low. He didn’t even notice I was following him, and I hung onto the nearest lamppost, unable to run any farther.
“Eric!” My heart was racing as fast as my voice was loud, but he didn’t hear me. “Eric!” “Please hear me!”
He spun around, nearly tripping over himself, as his hands lifted, readying for a fight. His green eyes glowed, flicking in the shadows, and my breath escaped me. How had I not seen it before?
His gaze landed on me, and his hands dropped as he jogged over to me. “Jessica?” He steadied me, taking us away from the lamppost, and he searched my face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I slapped his arm away, but he didn’t step back. His mouth opened, and tears sprung to my eyes. “How could you?” I screamed as all of my adrenaline—my anger, confusion, and desperation—rose.
He simply frowned. “How could I what?”
“You’re him,” I said. “This whole time you were him, and you hid it from me.”
Eric’s frown was replaced with a frozen blank stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, stepping backward. “Look—I—I have to go—”
“Why did you leave me like that?” I continued, stepping toward him. He wasn’t leaving without an explanation. “Why are you leaving again?”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and his shoulders rose. “I’m leaving right now, Jessica,” he said, pointing over his shoulder, and he turned away.
My body simmered with electricity as I watched him walk down the street. My fingertips sizzled, and my heart thundered, adrenaline curling up my spine and through my hair. The curls straightened out, turned black, and then returned to normal. Everything about how I was feeling was changing into something more. My powers. They were back.
“No one calls me Jessica but you!” I shouted at his back, and my energy shot out, enveloping the street in a purple fog.
I didn’t know if my words made Eric stop or not. Instead, my power disappeared, the purple flickered away, and a thick wave of air blew across the street. Hairs all over my body stuck up, and my stomach twisted against the familiar feeling. The Light was here.
A shadow surrounded Eric before simmering to his feet. His wavy brown hair was now black, and his skin was pale white. His blue irises were vibrant, even in the lamplight, and his jawline was defined. He was taller, broader, and his dress clothes were replaced with a plain black shirt and dark pants.
I was right.
Eric Welborn was Shoman, the first descendant of the Dark, and he always had been.
Before I could even comprehend what happened, in milliseconds an arm tightened around my waist and pulled me against a body. I squirmed, and Shoman stepped forward, but cold metal met my neck, and we froze.
“Don’t move,” the man said, and I knew what was against my throat, a knife.
I held my breath, trying to look up, but he grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back. I whimpered, and Shoman—or Eric—pulled his sword out. The illuminated weapon stung my vision, and I closed my eyes as Shoman spoke, “Let her go, Light!”
“Put your sword away,” my captor said, but Shoman didn’t budge. “Put your sword away!”
Shoman’s sword dropped an inch as his eyes flickered over me, but it didn’t disappear. He was hesitating, and his hesitation was my punishment.
The blade left my throat, but sliced across a strap of my dress. I yelped as pain seared down my shoulder, and I reached up to grab it. But the knife returned to my throat, and the man’s grip tightened. I gasped, fighting for breath.
“You misinterpreted a suggestion from an order,” the man said. “Put your sword away, or it won’t be her shoulder next time.”
Shoman dropped it, and the glowing weapon fell into the shadows before it ever touched the ground. He winced, and I knew he’d absorbed it like I had when I first showed him—quickly and painfully.
“Let her go,” Shoman said, shaking his head. He looked paler without his sword in front of him. “She has nothing to do with this.”
The man lifted my chin, and I finally saw his face. It was boney, rigid and defined, and shadows crawled over his tanned skin. He had black pits for eyes, shadowed by elongated eyelashes, but his spiked hair was golden. He was taller than I thought and broader than Shoman. He looked stronger, too.
“I’m surprised to find a human here,” he said, pushing my face back. I couldn’t move. “I wanted another shade.”
Relief shivered through me. He didn’t know. My powers were obsolete, only returning for a moment, but he’d sensed me—not Shoman. I’d caused this.
I looked at Shoman, and I saw his shoulders drop. He was relieved, too, but he covered his emotions with a glare. “So let her go.”
“But she’s seen us,” the man said, and the knife crawled across my skin. He was going to kill me. “And she knows something.”
“I don’t know anything,” I managed, praying my voice wouldn’t move my throat. I didn’t have room to move beneath his blade.
“See?” Shoman said, barely stepping forward. “This is only between you and me, Light.”
The man’s grip loosened, but I felt his body tense. “I don’t see why you’d defend such a useless being,” he said, and the tip of the blade pressed deeper into my throat. “Unless she means something to you.”
“The innocent will always mean something to me,” Shoman said, and for once, I appreciated Eric’s talents—or hobbies—for lying. I even believed his reason for defending me.
“You always were a better person than me, Shoman,” the man spoke, and Shoman stopped.
“What’s your name, Light?”
The man chuckled. “You already know it.”
Shoman’s brow scrunched as the man shifted me, holding me with one arm. With his free hand, he put the knife in his pocket, and stretched his fingers out. I squirmed as heat erupted through his hold, and I froze when a bright light expanded from his palm. It grew, doubling in size, and soared toward the sky. The beam shattered, and pieces of burning liquid dropped to the ground near my toes.
A sword, as wide and tall as Shoman’s, had replaced his knife.
“Darthon,” Shoman said, recognizing the descendant power as he’d done with me.
This man was the second descendant? The one Shoman had to kill?
“I’m not here to kill you, Shoman,” Darthon said, watching his sword as he waved it from side to side. “Unless I get bored.”
&nb
sp; “Then what are here for?” Shoman growled, but Darthon grinned.
“I think you already know,” he said and grinded his teeth. “I want the third descendant. I know she’s alive,” he continued. “Fudicia may not have, but I sensed two of you that night.”
He wanted me.
“Let me go,” I screeched, twisting against his hold. I scratched his arm, and I managed to stumble from his grasp, but he grabbed my hair and pulled me back.
Pain shot through my scalp, and I yelped as he gripped my arm. “You’re lucky I’m keeping you alive,” he said, shaking me, but I kicked him. I didn’t care. I’d take my chances if it meant survival.
“Don’t fight him.” Shoman’s voice flooded my thoughts, and I froze.
“But—”
“Not yet.”
I stopped and fought the urge to look at Shoman. Darthon would know we were talking if I did that, and then he’d know I was a shade. I’d be dead.
Darthon’s face reddened when he repositioned himself, holding my torso again. I half-expected the sword to go to my throat, but Darthon didn’t move. He only glared at Shoman. “I know I’m right,” he said, barely paying attention to his hostage. In his mind, I was human. I didn’t matter. But he’d use my life against Shoman if he could. I was a pawn. “I think you’d be surprised at what I’m capable of.”
Shoman forced an uncomfortable laugh. “And I think you’d be shocked at what I could do.”
“I don’t fear you,” he growled.
“Even though I’m destined to kill you?”
Darthon tensed. “You won’t be able to if I have the descendant.”
What was he talking about?
“You won’t be able to find her, Darthon,” Shoman said, pacing from side to side. “I don’t even know where she is.”
“You’re lying.”
Shoman smiled. “Am I?” he asked, teasing Darthon’s insecurities. Even I could see the second descendant was a boy—no older than Shoman himself. “It wouldn’t make a difference if I was,” Shoman continued. “She isn’t here, and I still wouldn’t tell you.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Darthon said, pushing his sword in front of us. “I traced your power; I could trace hers, too.”
Shoman’s eyes flickered over me, but he dropped his face, shaking it. “That’s impossible,” he spoke, but his other words filled my head. “Forget what I said. Get away from him.”
“What?”
“Hit him; fight him. Do anything, but do it now!”
I didn’t hesitate. I opened my mouth and sank my teeth into Darthon’s free hand. He yelled, pushing me away, and I fell backward, smacking my head on a lamppost. My vision spun, but I scrambled to my feet.
It was too late.
Darthon grabbed my arm and tossed me. My body bounced off the ground, and I rolled over the grass next to the cement. I recoiled in pain, but fought through it, gripping the dirt to stand. I pushed myself up and felt his foot collide with my ribs. I spun over, and Darthon was standing over me, sword in hand. He lifted it, and I knew what he’d do—I was dead.
He struck the sword toward me, but a blast of black and blue exploded against him. His sword disappeared inches from my face, and his body was shot down the sidewalk. His torso bent when it smacked into a lamppost, and I blinked as Shoman appeared by my side, made of shadows.
“Jessica?” He could barely speak. “Are you all right? Can you hear me?”
I nodded, and that was enough. Shoman pulled me against his chest, and a shadow surrounded us as a beam collided with his back. His body lurched against mine, and air escaped his lips as his shirt tore from his skin. I smacked the fire on his shoulder, and blood crawled over his collarbone.
Behind him, Darthon marched toward us.
“Shoman—”
“Hold on,” he said, placing his hands on my temples. “This won’t hurt,” he said, and his thoughts tore through me.
“Camille, I need help—now!”
I recognized the woman’s name: his guard was coming.
“Run,” Shoman said, his eyes flickering green, and then he was gone. He leapt over the brush and ran straight for Darthon. He pulled out his sword, and Darthon mirrored him. The weapons struck, and the ground vibrated.
I stood, ready to transform, but a woman appeared, splitting through a mix of shadows and light as she solidified on the ground. Her white hair was illuminating, but her expression was twisted with concern. “Shoman.” I could hear her voice.
“Don’t worry about me, Camille.” Shoman’s voice was rigid as he pushed Darthon backward. “Get Jessica out of here; take her to my father.”
She spun around, and her black eyes landed on me. They widened. “Who are you?”
I didn’t speak, and the woman mumbled, “Forget it.” Latching onto my bruising arm, she forced me into her light.